A few inches changes the world.

Monthly Archives: March 2015

I’ve more than dabbled in online dating. I am regularly swimming in the murky water of of profiles and personality measures and age range stipulations. I thought I had it all worked out. Tinder, the “breeders’ Grinder,” is for hook-ups and OKCupid is for those seeking something “real.” And then a friend made a very naked, honest observation: OKCupid is Tinder with subterfuge.

Tinder is more honest. Tinder is more like seeing someone across a bar, feeling that “spark” (ie. lust) and giving them bedroom eyes, a come hither look, by way of a swipe Right. OKCupid allows you to FEEL like the connections are more real, but how many of us have met up with an OKCupid date who had a great profile, and lackluster photos, and were pleasantly surprised? How many of us have regretted pretending not to be as shallow as we are? How many of us have wasted someone’s time because our loins, they were not a’burnin’?

OKCupid gives us a warm fuzzy feeling by making it seem we want more than simple animal attraction when we meet someone. We do, eventually, but if the looks aren’t there to begin with- if there is no initial spark, there is nothing to ignite a flame. And you need that initial flame. Romance is about the the heat as much as it is the head and heart. The heat stokes the flames, the head and heart keep the home fires burning. OKCupid feigns that connections are deeper than skin, and allows us to do the same, by coming up with pithy and clever answers to “List five things you can’t live without,” and “You should message me if…” We love to pretend we care more for the inside than the outside, while answering question after question about ourselves. We really just want to talk about ourselves, that’s why we complete a profile.

And the kicker is, we honestly expect our OKCupid admirers will read our entire, witty, original profile. Sentence after sentence of our deep thoughts on our favorite TV shows. We read maybe the first two sentences of each profile attached to a photo of a person we might consider hitting on, if they happened to be standing in front of us. It’s the most public and disconnected form of mutual masturbation you can find today. “Aren’t my opinions and musings so very interesting??” “Oh yes, of course, I read EVERYTHING. Don’t you think my favorite books show how intellectual I am?” “Oh my gosh, yes! Nothing says deep independent thinker like Ayn Rand!.” “Tell me how much you want to get to know me better because you found my ‘What do you think about’ answer inspiring!”

It’s true, a photograph is worth a thousand words, but no number of words will make you hot for someone you don’t feel that initial spark for. So, Swipe, my friends, Swipe to your eyes’ content, and perhaps you will Swipe a flame you’ll want to stoke.

So. No one can deny the perfection of Rebecca Minkoff. Her latest Clark Hobo combines a throw back style in classic lines and supple buttery caramel leather. Perfect for work or a day at the market. This look transitions between classic and relaxed chic effortlessly.

And it retails for almost 300.00.

For those of us who don’t pop into Neiman’s for the latest in luxury on a regular basis, here are some alternative awesome hobos!

Sole Society’s Remy

64.95

Steve Madden’s BMadly

108.00

Urban Originals Lust (at Neiman Marcus Last Call)

61.75

Perhaps handmade by RusticMoon13 from Etsy

125.00

Or, if you are that much of Minkoff fan (I know I am)- There’s always the smaller, cross body option.

I was writing about fucking and I wanted to write about a woman’s vagina using a term that was sexy. Not biological, “vagina,” not crass, “pussy,” “cunt,” but in a way that embodied the heat of the moment, like “cock.”

“Cock” is a perfect word for a penis in action of being adored or useful. You want to be fucked by a cock. You want to take a cock in your mouth. You want to feel a cock get hard. It sounds hot to fuck a cock.

“Pussy?” Does that sound as hot, as sexy, as alluring? No, not really. We’ve learned to disregard the “pussy,” the effeminate, the wuss. “Cunt?” We like to use that term to devalue anyone who is difficult. “Vagina?” Shesh. Hand me a textbook, what cream do you need?

Then there are all the other funny, silly terms referring to the vagina: muff, clam, pink taco, Picachu… You don’t want to read about her clam, slick with anticipation. Ew. You just think of shellfish, and fish, and gross smells. You don’t think about this most intimate part of a woman, how she comes alive from your touch, from your thrust, smelling the sweet musk of her dampness as you learn her body and how to make her gasp.

Then there are all the euphemisms, dancing around the vagina, suggesting it’s not even worth naming: holiest of holies, that space/button/spot between her legs, her very core. Her very core? Really? No, it’s not her core, it is the body part able to give her immense pleasure, able to give another immense pleasure, a conduit between two people, or part of her body she explores herself.

I want a word for the vagina that feels like cock. Something to be proud of. When I fuck you, I want to fuck you with credibility. The sort of credibility “cock” gives to a penis. Without “cock,” a penis is just some flaccid rope of skin hanging from your torso. You tinkle with a “penis.” A “cock” you fuck with. I want the word that gives the vagina the same validity and respect and desire as “cock” lends to the penis.